(Extra)Ordinary
Chapter One: Extraoridinary I'm just a child, nothing special,nothing more. I never understood childhood antics or life. I just find that we' re here. "I am me and only I,no one else,just passing by." "I am me and only I...." I kept repeating I dont know why I'm just here, maybe we are all the same. I'm the kid that normally sits on the playground and just reads, always trying to escape reality and diverge into the land of the book. I love fiction and how it changes reality by words, how to captivate someones mind and emotions. I am the kid that sits quietly in class to shy to raise his hand, not fear of being errouneous but to be seen or acknoledge. The old saying goes: "Eyes are the window to the soul." I wonder what people see me when they see mine, my eyes, I never seem to care but their black chorcoal color but oil smooth. What do they see when they see mine, i see what they see in theirs. Everyone has a story, everyone has a life what is they see.Im just repeating myself but what is to the mind, memories are repeations of past events. I never thought myself as a normal child, often ignoring what children find alluring and delightful. I often found myself going to the field and sitting under the grand Oak and Maple tree, The Grand Arc, my parents called due to the two trees entwined in one ar almost as seeming to yearn to be one.Its been told for centuries and down through our generations that these trees were planted by the first of the family: Adam and Angelica Arc, who then on had twelve children but split of the family to different branches; they even built a hose near the two trees on the field, though new additions are added every generations by Head Family, and now stands as proud as a manor or mansion on the small estate. No one really knows since I invite no one, my parents constantly argue that I'm not normal, my father chastising me for not acting like a normal child. I never been a bad child nor have i ever done anything wrong, I excel on my studies and act as proper as necessary its just.... Its just I never associate with anyone, my meetings are often brief and never fond of the person, except for my mother who cared for me and the only who seem to understand. Abora she was named, she was strong but kind and craddled anything in her branches my grandmother would say. As a mere newborn I never had a fondness of people, no I don't think I better I detest them as I detest myself. My whole existence is unclear and awkward on the world.At school I am decribed as a loner and a wanderer, I choose to stay alone. Anyone that trys to comfort me and thinking we can become friends is futile, I dont chase them away I dont make distance they choose to go away, loose interest or ultimatly forget me. I dont feel bad I never get emotionally attached, I have been hurt before, illusioned to think i had friends but they betrayed my trust, they betrayed me. I din't shed tears i din't fall into a state of depression or madness. I was disallusioned from the dream world and into reality and swore not to take part in those false hopes.But sometimes opening your eyes and creatures of that pure and divine world come with you "Dei auxilio Angelorum." Chapter Two: I Am Me and Only I "I am me and only I.." My grandfather taught me that phrase, before his passing I found myself always hanging around his little workshp.He made fanstatic statues of all creatures,animals , humans, or humanoids.He made them with all material, wood,quarts,crystal, glass anythng you can shape he probably made something.What I found myself always going to were the clay dragons and the crystal angels figures. Tracing through the finely tuned carved scales of the little dragons, and the angels cold smooth feathered wings. Always position of prayer or portraying ll emotionssome even weeping. "Eyevan some angels weep over the sins we make, others pray for us in hopes of getting better, even the ones that weep are also praying they are just more sensitive for they are our angels." "But, grandfather what could possibibly hurt a angels feelings since they are abve the world of sin or human ties." I so young and full of question like we were all once. "When we are born we arent born alone, God takes t on himself to choose our names and talent, he also assigns an angel that watches us." he contuined on carving another crystal statue as he goes with the story "Grandfather but what does that have to be with one shedding tears....." I was soon inturrupted. "Easy, they have been with us since birth, they have seen what we have done,they have been there for the highest or lowest point sin our lives; when we are sad or grieve they do the same, when we rejoice and Delight they do the same, but when we anger and argue or feel hatred or any negtaive emotion is when they grieve and shed tears over our mistakes." Our Family has always been Catholic since the days of the very beingining, and has stayed that way since and after;however, my grandfather and grandmother coming from the more serious ages saw more to the calling, I aswell always wanted to join them in mass but couldnt due to my parents busy schedule and only attented on sundays. But what a place it was, the Cathedriel was grand and grandioise, the paining so pure and clear of a sparkling snow, the linings of pure gold, the celleing with so many archs and places where it went up like a tent only set in stone. The cross in the middle of the alter with the very Jesus of Nazerth or Christ(Whichever one prefers) and a decoration in shape of another cathedirel in the back, doves flew off into the sky, but frozen since they are only part of the piece. On one side there was a statue of the Holy Virgin Mary, shown so graceful and rejoiceful in a praying position, but always I saw in that face where the maker must of plan a hint of grief and sadness where she even looked to be shedding or already shed a tear; what had caused the maker to portray her in that matter is beyond me, maybe it was to show that she and God and his son grieve our sins. On the other side there stood equal as Mary was Joseph, standing proud but humble with his shepherds staff with his herd of small lambs in the background. I always found myself siting closest to that statue of Mary always providing sense of security and watchful eye, call me what you may bt Ifind a strong respect on this place and hate when the kid of school tease and laugh how they hate going there every sunday. "Hate...." I thought, a word that gets overused, a word that has a greater meaninb then they put it as, hate describing the smallest things. Hate how it enrages me that they misuse that word. WOrds have meanings they have places, they have purpose and when somone takes or changes that purpose it enrages me. But I too afraid to correct just sit idle by. I hate myself, its like i have this voice but i dont deserve it for never using it. "I am me and only I.." That always calms me,dont know why my grandfather taught me to say or remember that. I uderstand what it means, but what does it have to do anything. Category:Fiction Category:Realistic Fiction